


First Hunt

by sans_carte



Series: Four Seasons [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Commander Hearteyes Lexa (The 100), F/F, slightly fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 14:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17265842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sans_carte/pseuds/sans_carte
Summary: The first hunt after the first snow of each winter is a communal tradition for the Trigedakru. Heda must lead the hunt, of course, so Wanheda must be there too...which is unfortunate, because Clarke prefers appreciating the snow from indoors.





	First Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Diverges from canon after 3x07; we’re pretending that didn’t happen. Un-beta’ed.

WINTER

It’s easier to hunt deer after snow falls. Their brown coats stand out against the white backdrop, and their tracks show clear in the snow on the forest floor. The first hunt after the first snow of each winter-- _Fos Homplei_ \--is a communal tradition for the Trigedakru, along with the feast that follows it. Heda must lead the hunt, of course, which means Wanheda must be there too.

Unfortunately, Clarke prefers appreciating the snow from indoors. Snow is so beautiful, so unlike anything on the Ark, and she always enjoys watching it fall with surprising silence from the low clouds.  She does NOT enjoy tramping through it in search of prey. It’s _cold_ , and damp. Besides, she isn’t as skilled at hunting as many Grounders are, and she doesn’t particularly like killing deer, even though she knows the meat is much-needed in wintertime.

It does help a little to see how excited Lexa gets at the first snowfall. The day before, as the snow came down, Clarke had actually spotted her catching flakes on her tongue from a tower balcony.  Later during sparring practice, Lexa had lobbed snowballs at Indra when the warrior’s back was turned. When Indra scowled at her, wiping snow from her leather jacket and boots, the Commander pretended wide-eyed innocence.  Which of course fooled absolutely no one.

It also helps that when Lexa rouses Clarke, as dawn breaks over the first freshly-fallen snow of the season, she does it with soft kisses and a tray full of hot breakfast.  After they eat and dress, Lexa tucks river-smoothed stones that had been warming near the fire into the pockets of Clarke’s coat, to wrap her hands around later.

“Ready?” Lexa asks, as she finishes strapping on her weapons.

Clarke stifles a groan.  The sun isn’t even fully over the horizon yet, and the air coming in from around the curtained windows is icy-sharp.  “I guess so.”

Along with a select group of warriors, they mount up just outside the stables; they’ll ride into the woods until scouts pick up deer tracks and they continue on foot.  From her saddle Lexa accepts a bow and quiver from the armorer and what looks like a metal cylinder from a woman whose muscular forearms are bare despite the cold, her face ruddy above a flour-dusted apron.

“ _Os homplei, Heda_ ,” the cook says, dipping her head and presenting the small, battered-looking cylinder with a bit of a flourish.

“ _Mochof_ ,” Lexa thanks her with a nod and a similar tone of ceremony.  She holds the object easily in one hand, reins in the other, as the hunting party rides out of the tower enclosure and towards the forest.

A few minutes in, Lexa nudges her horse next to Clarke’s and hands her the metal cylinder.

“To keep you warm,” she says.

Clarke realizes it’s a container, like a handle-less mug or tankard. Its surface is slightly warm--but not hot--under her fingers, yet when she unscrews the metal lid, steam rises to her nose.  She recognizes her favorite kind of tea from the sweet herbal scent.

“Thank you,” Clarke replies sincerely.  “But what’s this container? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“It is from before _Praimfaya_. It is rare to find such objects intact, but it is durable, and very useful for hunting and traveling. It has been handed down from Heda to Heda for years. These days it is only brought out for _Fos Homplei_.”

Clarke regards the scratched yet sturdy steel with new awe, and a little trepidation. “So it’s a ritual thing? Are you sure I should have this instead of you?”

Lexa gives her a smile, small but warm as the tea. “Of course, Clarke. You are Wanheda. And you are my _niron_.”

Clarke can’t help the blush that rises into her cold cheeks at the last part. She still isn’t used to how quickly Lexa can go from battle-hardened, serious commander to this soft, thoughtful girl barely out of her teens.

“And you become disagreeable when you are cold, so it is important to the success of the hunt that you stay warm,” Lexa adds, mischief now dancing in her eyes.

“Disagreeable, huh? You didn’t think I was so disagreeable last night when I—“

Lexa reaches over and slips a playful hand over her mouth. “ _Shusha_ , you’ll scare the deer.”

Clarke kisses Lexa’s callused palm before she moves it away.  She grins as she takes another sip of tea, revelling in the heat. “So what’s this sacred ritual vessel called, anyway?”

“In Trigedasleng it is _waumkepa_. In gonasleng it is a ‘Ther-mos’,” Lexa pronounces carefully, “the same as it was called before _Praimfaya_.”

“How do you know that?”

Lexa shoots her an amused look, then reaches out and rotates the container in Clarke’s hands, until she feels indentations under her fingers. Despite the battered surface, the letters pressed into it are still readable: THERMOS.

“Ah.”

Clarke marvels at the history of it.  Commanders over countless years have held this rare artifact, have drunk from it.  She will never like her title of Wanheda and hates the bloody act that garnered it, but it’s a little comforting to know she isn’t exactly the first.  There have been other leaders who must’ve had to make cruel decisions for the sake of their people, as she and Lexa have been forced to do, but they too were only human.  They hunted deer. They drank tea to keep warm on winter mornings.

Maybe some of them even fell in love, no matter how Titus grumbles that ‘to be Commander is to be alone’.

A scout whistles a signal from farther up the trail, having spotted tracks.  Lexa flashes another smile at Clarke, this one big and reckless, and kicks her horse forward on the snowy path to join the chase.  Clarke follows, curling the Thermos close to her chest, but it isn’t just the tea that warms her from within.

 


End file.
